


call me any, anytime

by carissima



Series: writer's block [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Drunk Dialing, Feelings Realization, M/M, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 03:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20167243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carissima/pseuds/carissima
Summary: “Oh baby,” Roope croons in a low voice, sending shivers down Miro’s spine. “C’mon. You know why I’m calling. I know why I’m calling. Now get whatever lame shorts you’re wearing off and put your hand on your dick.”“Not sexy,” Miro mutters even as he’s shimmying out of his shorts. He’s not putting his hand on his dick though. Not yet, anyway. He’s not that easy.





	call me any, anytime

**Author's Note:**

> this is for an anonymous sentence prompt on tumblr: "you make me nervous and happy and horny at the same time, it’s confusing as fuck, sometimes." thanks whoever sent this in! 
> 
> unbeta'd, mistakes all mine, etc etc.

Miro’s not anxious.

He keeps drumming his fingers against his thigh, his foot tapping in a matching rhythm, and stares at his phone where it’s sitting on the coffee table in front of him, waiting for it to light up.

It stays stubbornly dark and message-free.

He manages to wait it out for another few minutes before he lunges for his phone and makes sure it’s turned on.

It is.

With a frustrated sigh, he throws it back down onto the table, somewhat satisfied when it makes a loud thunk.

He goes back to drumming his fingers, and it’s not long before his foot starts tapping again.

Finally, after long, painful minutes or maybe just a few seconds, Miro doesn’t even know what time is anymore, but finally, his phone starts vibrating, lighting up with Roope’s name.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly when he answers. His hands are gross and sweaty and he’s holding the phone too tight. But he hears Roope’s soft laugh and his quiet greeting and Miro starts grinning stupidly at the ceiling.

“Sorry, I got caught up.” Roope sounds a little guilty and Miro’s tempted to dig a little, make him feel really bad for keeping him waiting. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Miro says, because he can’t keep a grudge for longer than a shift on the ice. “It’s okay. I wasn’t busy or anything.”

“Okay, good,” Roope says before Miro hears a click in the background, like a door closing. “So, what are you wearing?”

Miro rolls his eyes. “Are you kidding?” he asks the ceiling. And Roope. “You can’t just ask me that and expect it to sound sexy.”

“Oh baby,” Roope croons in a low voice, sending shivers down Miro’s spine. “C’mon. You know why I’m calling. I know why I’m calling. Now get whatever lame shorts you’re wearing off and put your hand on your dick.”

“Not sexy,” Miro mutters even as he’s shimmying out of his shorts. He’s not putting his hand on his dick though. Not yet, anyway. He’s not that easy.

“You find me so sexy,” Roope snickers softly. “Or do you do this with all the boys?”

“Maybe,” Miro says, breathily enough to betray him.

“Oh,” Roope says knowingly. “You like that, huh? You want to let the team share you around?”

Miro shakes his head, even though Roope can’t see him. “No,” he says, but it doesn’t sound convincing, even to himself. “No, I don’t,” he says more firmly. “This is just -.”

The thing is, he doesn’t know what this is. He has no fucking idea. He left Dallas at the end of the season, went home, healed up from a hard rookie season that ended before he was ready, and stayed off the ice for three whole weeks.

Roope had texted a few times, and Miro always replied. Then Roope had called; a mis-dial, he’d claimed. Drunk and way past midnight, while Miro was half-asleep and confused. He doesn’t even know how they’d gotten onto the subject of jerking off, but somehow they had, and that led to Miro listening as Roope got himself off over the phone, vaguely aware that he should cut off the call because Roope was drunk and had fewer inhibitions than usual.

Roope, Miro had discovered over the years they’ve known each other, is almost shameless. Almost, but not entirely.

But he hadn’t hung up. Instead, Miro had shamefully listened to Roope shamelessly jerking off.

And then, to make it so much worse, he’d let Roope convince him to return the favor.

Now it’s August and they’ve been doing this, sober and awake - and planned - for weeks. And never, ever talked about why they’re doing it or what they’re going to do when they’re back in Dallas. Miro doesn’t know if this is a purely long-distance thing that’ll stop when they’re hanging out in each other’s space every day again or if Roope has any interest whatsoever about putting his physical hand on Miro’s actual dick.

“This is just for you,” Miro blurts out when the silence between them holds for too long. And then he drops his head into his hands and nearly drops the phone on his shamefully hard dick. “I mean. That’s not really a thing I’m into?”

“Lucky me. I get to have you all to myself, yeah?” Roope asks.

“Yeah,” Miro says far too honestly. “Is that, uh, okay?”

“I wish I was there with you,” Roope says instead of answering.

“Well, I mean, you can? If you want,” Miro says, confused. “You wanna FaceTime?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath and Miro wonders belatedly whether he’s just fucked up. Except his phone beeps at him and he accepts the request and now he can see Roope, shirtless and flushed, staring through the phone at him.

“Hi,” Miro says dumbly.

Roope quirks a smile at him. “Hey,” he says. “You look good.”

Miro glances away from the screen and fights a smile. “You look okay, I guess,” he says, and then ruins everything by biting his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing at the outraged expression on Roope’s face.

“Oh yeah?” Roope says challengingly and angles his phone so Miro can see exactly how naked Roope currently is. He’s lying on a bed, clean white sheets underneath him, and he’s more tanned than when they’d left Dallas. He’s hard, flushed and full, and Miro can’t take his eyes off him. “What about now?”

Miro clears his throat. “I wasn’t really expecting, uh this. Today.”

Roope tilts the phone back to focus on his face. “Too much?” he asks carefully. Or as careful as he’s capable of being, Miro thinks. He appreciates the gesture at least.

“No,” he says eventually, after a little consideration. “No, not too much.” And he holds his phone away from where it’s focused on his own face so that Roope can see exactly how much Miro likes what they’re doing.

Roope inhales sharply.

Miro flushes a little and slowly trails his shaky fingers down his chest, ghosting over his belly and then finally, a little shyly, he takes himself in his hand and lets Roope hear his low, quiet moan as he settles into himself. “Yeah?”

“Keep going,” Roope says roughly, which is, well, new. Normally, Roope’s the loud one, pushing Miro to let go. Everything about this is new though, and Miro finds himself enjoying having control, for once.

“You wanna see?” he asks softly and starts to jerk himself off slowly, making sure Roope can see every movement of his hand.

“Yes,” Roope says quickly. “Show me.”

“I wanna see you too,” Miro says, his breath coming quickly now that he’s touching himself. He feels thick and heavy in his hand, familiar and yet so, so different to anything he’s done before. He’s never had an audience before, never shown himself off like this to anyone.

Never wanted to, before.

“After,” Roope promises. “You first, then me.”

Miro nods, incapable of talking right now at the thought of all Roope’s attention being focused on him. He takes his time, watches Roope watching him, and teases himself into such a state that his hips are helplessly arching off his bed and he’s using every ounce of stubborn will that he can muster to stop himself coming right then and there.

“Fuck,” he hears Roope mutter. “Yeah, babe. Come on. You look so good, I wanna see you come all over yourself. Make a mess of yourself for me.”

“Yeah,” Miro says shakily, his hand moving in a blur over his dick.

He’s still staring at Roope as he comes, before it really hits him and he has to close his eyes, jerking himself through the waves of his orgasm until he has to stop, afraid of how much he’s feeling, afraid of what his body might be capable of.

“Miro? Babe?”

Slowly, he opens his eyes and realizes that Roope must have been saying his name for a while, trying to get his attention. “Sorry,” he says huskily. “I’m here.”

“Good because you almost missed it,” Roope gasps and that’s when Miro focuses. Roope must have propped his phone on a pillow right between his legs or something because he can see everything. He can see Roope’s hand on his dick, can see the look on Roope’s face that tells him that he’s close. “You looked so hot, I couldn’t wait.”

“Don’t wait,” Miro urges him.

“Keep talking,” Roope pleads. Unlike Miro, Roope’s got his eyes closed, clearly lost in his own moment. “Please. I wanna hear your voice.”

“Uh,” Miro says. And then wants to hit himself because Roope doesn’t want to hear him stumbling over words and being an idiot. “You uh, look good.”

“Miro,” Roope groan in frustration.

Miro winces. “Right. Um, okay. I’ve uh, wanted to watch you for a while,” he says. Roope’s eyes fly open at that and his mouth falls open and Miro wants to kiss him. “I didn’t know if you did, so I’m glad you suggested it. Earlier.”

“This isn’t the dirty talk I had in mind,” Roope tells him.

He’s still jerking himself off and his dick is leaking now, so Miro thinks it’s not a real complaint.

“I think about you a lot,” Miro admits and that has Roope swearing and his hand moving faster. “Uh, just you, actually, these days. I don’t know if you want to do this when we get back to Dallas, or if it’s just a summer thing, but I’d be up for it. If you are.”

“You wanna have phone sex in Dallas?” Roope pants. His hair is a mess against his headboard and he looks flushed with heat.

“Or uh, actual sex?” Miro says with another wince.

“Fuck,” Roope drags out and he comes, his dick pulsing again and again as Miro watches in wide-eyed wonder.

“Is that normal,” he breathes and hears Roope’s stuttered laugh.

“Kinda,” he admits, breathing hard.

Miro can’t see his face anymore, since he’s collapsed back against the bed, but the view is still pretty good. “Was that, uh, too much?”

“No,” Roope says sharply, his head popping up. Then he reaches for the phone and brings it closer so Miro gets a full screen-full of Roope’s post orgasmic face. It’s pretty incredible. “So, you wanna touch my dick, huh?”

“Yeah,” Miro says bravely. “I thought that was kind of obvious by now.”

Roope hums thoughtfully. “Well, I wanna touch your dick too, so that’s a good place to start.”

“I think we’ve already started,” Miro deadpans. It earns him an eye roll from Roope as he settles back against his pillows, his arm crooked behind his head.

“So when are you heading back to the US?” Roope asks casually.

Miro grins widely at him. “Two weeks,” he says. “You?”

“I could bring my flight forward by a few days,” Roope says in the same nonchalant tone that isn’t fooling Miro anymore. “I could swing by your place. Maybe stay for a few days.”

Miro draws in a sharp breath. “Yeah?”

“No, you’re right,” Roope agrees thoughtfully. “At least a week.”

“A week,” Miro says faintly.

“Or if you’re looking for a roommate for your fancy condo, I could just move in,” Roope says with a grin. “Esa offered me his spare room, but your place is more, hmm, appealing.”

“Of course you can move in,” Miro says automatically before he can think about it. Because if he thinks about it, this would be an epically dumb move, and Miro prides himself on being cool and calm and deliberate. This would be none of those things.

“You just wanna get on my dick any time you like,” Roope complains, like he wasn’t the one to suggest they live together based on one summer of jerking off together over the phone.

It’s reckless. It’s stupid.

“You make me nervous and happy and horny at the same time,” Miro says before he can stop himself. “It’s confusing as fuck, sometimes. Move in with me.”

Roope laughs. He’s so pretty and big and he makes Miro feels so many things all the time. “A trial period,” he offers, being the sensible one for once. But he looks pleased and soft all the same.

“In two weeks,” Miro says. His flight is already booked.

“Two weeks,” Roope agrees. “I’m going to book my flight as soon as we hang up.”

“Alright,” Miro says. “I’ll pick you up from the airport.”

“Obviously,” Roope grins at him. “I should probably go and clean up. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” Miro says and smiles back.

They hang up and Miro just lays there for a while. He feels like his whole life has been upended this summer, and now it’s just righting itself, perhaps. He needs to shower too, but he just can’t find the energy or enthusiasm to get up.

His phone vibrates next to him.

**Roope: FaceTime me tomorrow whenever you’re free after 9**

It’s accompanied by a dick pic.

Miro bursts out laughing.

**Miro: You’re the worst. I’m gonna jerk off to that picture later.**

**Roope: Text me pictures!!!!!**

Miro grabs a pillow and shoves it over his face.

Two more weeks. He can’t fucking wait.


End file.
